Nothing has been left of the light, the laughter and dreams you once held.

Happiness turned into rage, knowledge into an endless abyss and peace into war.

All that is left is a sliver of hope you can all find your end in an everlasting bliss in which you once again can all dance barefoot in the grass.

To that I pray instead of a god, to our happiness, our hope, our peace and to the future in which we see each other again as we once were.

To have looked upon true evil and walked away unharmed is not a thing many people can claim. Erandil Tilicen however would never pride himself on such thing. He would first die than speak of his own hesitation and failing.

He had asked Dietes many times to erase it from his and then the mind of those who would follow and bear his soul but the god had refused then as it continued to do through the hundreds of years Erandil lived.

The memory never faded from his mind though, even when worshipped by his family, by his town, country and the world. It was always there, alive and waiting. It repeated in his trances, breathed down his neck, chased him through the darkest parts of his home.

Eventually he had assumed that those who come after him will be too proud to reveal such information when they finally uncover the memory. He had expected a lineage of mages one proud as the other, unrelenting in the persue of magic.